Saturday, May 28, 2011

The other day I bought some capri pants (just below the knee for those of you who don't know that word). They have pockets on the sides, which is cool for those times when you want to carry a little something like a key or some dollars without ruining the lines and bop out onto the fashionable city sidewalks.

Except, of course, that -- well. You know where this is going.

It's a pretend pocket. On the other side, it's a real one. "Real" as in "useful". "Pretend" as in "sewn shut with sufficient artistry that one might be (understandably) deceived about its utility until one actually tried to unbutton it."

Now why go through the trouble to make something that looks so very much like a useful container in which one might carry things of value? Why pretend?

I know, I know, it's women's fashion, and making sense is not its primary purpose.

But still. ARrrrrggggghhhhhhgggghhgghhh. Gggghhh.

There, I feel better. Mostly. I still don't have a pocket where I need one.

I took on that assignment with pleasure. Here is my letter to the author:

Dear Ms. Lyris,

Rarely do we see such talent. Your provocative characters and intense drama kept us deeply engaged until the brilliant ending, after which we felt the need to plant forests and work at soup kitchens.

To be blunt, your stories have brought us the personal transformation and transcendence we might otherwise have spent a lifetime seeking.

On behalf of the Journal we must reject your submission on the grounds that our readership is simply not mature enough for this sort of insight. We're sure you understand.

Should you decide to submit again you might consider something more light-hearted. We understand that Dr. Isaac Asimov wrote limericks in between Nebula and Hugo acceptance speeches. Perhaps you can do likewise.

Sincerely,

Sonia Lyris, Editor

Ahhh, satisfaction! I have my rejection, finally, from this most prestigious publication. I ask you: is there any reason for me to seek further rejections from lesser publications?

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Welcome to the Showboat, a.k.a. the Editorial Board. I am forwarding you your first assignment (see message below). Please carefully review and reject this submission directly to the submitter. You may cc me on the rejection if you think it is blogworthy.
Best regards,
Caleb

--
Caleb Emmons, PhD
Editor-in-Chief
Journal of Universal Rejection

Dear Dr. Emmons,

After reflecting on both your new and standing requirements and struggling with various revisions, I present to you my -- I cannot help but think of it as "our" -- newest version. I struggled with how to provide the needed verisimilitude without including any description whatsoever, which provided me with a stumbling block until I remembered that the heart and soul of a story resides not in the words but in the reader.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

"Reverend Camping and Christian Radio are trying to convince Christians to believe in the May 21 Judgment Day. This is the day of the Rapture and they will be leaving the world to go to heaven. Who will take care of their pets that they have left behind? The only option is to make arrangements with the atheists."

Apparently all it takes to be an atheist is to take the Lord's name in vain, so despite what I actually might believe, I'll be here May 22nd.

I'm an animal lover. So listen, if you're planning to leave for Heaven on May 21st, please make arrangements for your animals. I'm good with cats, dogs and birds. I really don't want to see your fur-babies suffer while you're in Heaven. So contact me ASAP.

I mean it.

I see some of you snickering. Cut it out. They could be right and you could be (oh-so) wrong. A little respect, eh?

There's bad news, though: given how stringent the requirements seem to be, we might not see all that much reduction in population on May 22. Might still be pretty hard to find parking in the End Times.

Hey, believers: at least put out some extra kibble on May 21st, okay? In case you're right?

Monday, May 9, 2011

As a followup to my last letter to Dr. Emmons of the Journal of Universal Rejection, I send a letter in which I (naturally) discuss the great challenges I faced in this delicate and tricky rewrite, express my eagerness to start my editorial duties, and present my story offering.

Dear Dr. Emmons,

After reflecting on both your new and standing requirements and struggling with various revisions, I present to you my -- I cannot help but think of it as "our" -- newest version. I struggled with how to provide the needed verisimilitude without including any description whatsoever, which provided me with a stumbling block until I remembered that the heart and soul of a story resides not in the words but in the reader.